


Moments

by WithoutBringingMeDreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Post 4x11, might be TBC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:06:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithoutBringingMeDreams/pseuds/WithoutBringingMeDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because I was mad about missing the moments b/t 4x11 and 4x12 that were important in their relationship...I wrote something. Maybe TBC. Set the morning after 4x11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mickey awoke to sun too bright. Every part of him felt heavy with ache, weighted down to Ian’s crappy mattress. Inside, though, he was hollow. Empty of so much pain but not yet filled with whatever the fuck the future held.

He lay facing the wall, Ian pressed up behind him and breathing softly against his neck. He was almost sure, though, that he’d fallen asleep facing Ian’s chest the night before, burying his head there, letting Ian stroke his hair as he choked back tears. Or maybe the tears had escaped, but Ian had been good enough to pretend not to notice.

Mumbling and two loud thumps broke the morning stillness. “What the hell happened to you guys? Get hit by a truck or something?” Carl’s puberty-graveled voice sounded above Mickey’s head.

Without moving, because he knew how much that’d hurt, he glanced down at the sheets. Cuts and blood-crusted gashes had reopened in the night, leaving red streaks on the blankets and pillow.

Ian stirred behind him. “Go away, Carl.”

“Your brother’s gay?” A strange new addition to the Gallagher family circus asked. Startled, Mickey turned slightly to catch sight of a blonde kid peering down at him.

Fucking perfect. More people he had to explain himself to, reveal himself to. Though…did that even matter anymore?

A tiny piece of his so recently emptied self seemed to fill at the response to his thought—no, not really. Especially not some kid. Who the fuck cared if she knew?

“Yup.” Carl responded. “The other dude is his boyfriend.”

“Cool,” the girl said.

“Ian, this is my girlfriend, Bonnie,” Carl went on, still hovering right above their bed.

“That’s great,” Ian mumbled, still pressed into Mickey’s neck. The words vibrated against Mickey’s skin and almost made him squirm, but he was still too achy to risk the movement. “Now please go away.”

“Fine, man. But if you’re gonna have sex, Liam’s still in bed.”

Mickey winced, irritating the wounds on his forehead and nose, and then winced again. Not helpful.

“Go away Carl!” Ian flipped over and launched something at his brother, resulting in scampering footsteps and laughter.

“Jesus, finally.” Ian sighed, settling back against Mickey, thought not as closely as before. After a few moments of silence, he tapped Mickey on the shoulder. “You up?”

Pretending to be asleep would only buy Mickey peace for so long, and besides, he needed a cigarette. He rolled around slowly, each inch a reminder of how many bruises covered his body. “Maybe I wish I wasn’t. Need some more fucking aspirin.”

“Yeah.” Ian nodded and scooted a few more inches away, revealing the purple and red bruise spanning his ribs. “I’ll get ya some when we go down for breakfast.”

Mickey bit his lip, and again realized that his injuries affected too many of his normal facial expressions. Blood from the cut on his mouth seeped onto his tongue, and he spit to get rid of the taste. Sheets were fuckin’ ruined, anyhow.

Ian clenched a fistful of bloodied blanket and studied him, green eyes searching. Mickey wasn’t sure what he was searching for, though, and eventually he could no longer take the penetrating gaze.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Nothin’. Just…I kinda can’t believe it happened, is all.”

Mickey grunted and turned onto his back to stare up at fake plastic stars. “Well, believe it. I don’t fucking feel like I _did_ get hit by a truck for nothin’."

Ian nodded, a tight, nervous nod. Still so far away on the bed, which was odd, considering how small the space was—and considering the way they’d fallen asleep the night before.

But in the light of day, in the Gallagher household filled with way too many kids (even some extra ones sleeping downstairs) Mickey didn’t know how to reach out across that space just yet.

All he could do was lean his head toward Ian’s and sigh.

Ian took the offer and met him halfway, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“’m fine.”

“Seriously,” Ian pressed. “Are you, really? With…with everything?”

The gentle hand began to stroke, down Mickey’s back, fingers pressing into the thin cotton t-shirt he’d borrowed to sleep in.

“Quit fuckin’ coddling me,” Mickey answered, and swatted Ian’s hand away. “I’m not some fucking baby.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but a stupid grin broke out on his face. “Go ahead, push me away, Mick. After last night, you’re never gonna get me to believe you actually don’t want me here.”

Mickey set his jaw, deciding between a glare and a playful shove. In the end, though, he wound up grabbing Ian’s face with both hands and smashing him into a painful kiss.

Stupid busted lip…but it turned out, it wasn’t so hard to reach out to Ian, after all.

“Careful.” Ian eased up on the kiss, ending it with softer pecks. “You’re bleeding on me.”

“So what.” Mickey pressed in again, this time with his whole body. “What’s one more bodily fluid shared between us?”

He ground his hips against Ian’s to get his point across. As battered as they both were, that kind of release would be fucking welcome right now.

“Kiss kiss?” a small voice interrupted, and then little hands and feet were clambering onto the bed.

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey jerked back against the wall as Liam draped himself over Ian’s body. “There’s no fucking privacy in this goddamn house.”

Ian’s laughter, and Liam’s as he received some tickling jabs, filled the small room. “He's just a baby, Mick. Jeez.”

Just a baby. Right. And if Mickey had screamed about everything he and Ian did behind closed doors in front of half the people he knew…then he could handle one fucking baby.

So beneath the safety of the sheet, he slipped his hand into Ian’s boxers and gripped him before leaning in for an innocent kiss.

“Whatever you say, Gallagher.”

Ian squirmed beneath his touch, freckled cheeks lighting up with a blush. “Fine. I guess there are _some_ things we could use privacy for.”

Damn straight.

Or gay. Whatever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry, just needed some cheese 'n fluff today

“Yo! Everybody decent up there?”

Mickey glowered at the door in preparation for Lip’s arrival, because yes, everyone was entirely too fucking decent. Liam might’ve been a baby, but screwing in front of him still didn’t seem right.

So they’d dressed slowly instead, taking care not to upset their injuries any further. A few dabs of toilet paper to staunch the bleeding and a quick once-over to confirm they really did look like shit, and they were almost ready to brave the world.

Well, Ian was, at any rate.

He was beaming, his trademark lopsided smile permanently plastered on his face. He was laughing and playing with Liam, bouncing about the room as Mickey got in his morning smoke, brushing his arm across Mickey’s hips and waist whenever he passed, even fucking _humming._

“Ey, Mary Poppins, you mind telling your brother to fuck off?” Mickey asked, just as the hallway floorboards creaked under the weight of footsteps. Too late.

“Why?” Ian grinned impossibly wider. “We’re going down for breakfast, aren’t we?”

Sure, they were, but it would’ve been nice to have had a few more minutes to themselves. And no, Mickey would never admit that he’d been hoping for one last kiss—one last affirmation that he’d traded the life he’d always known for something much, much better.

Fuckin’ sissy talk, is what that was.

“Hey, Carl said something about you guys getting hit by a car?” Lip entered the room, worried eyes immediately scanning Ian for damage. “Shit. What the fuck happened?”

“Not a car,” Ian said, running his hands through his hair. “Terry and some of his brothers or cousins or whatever. Don’t really know the family tree. Hey, you should tell me about ‘em.” He turned and smacked Mickey’s arm.

“Why the fuck would I want to do that? And why the fuck would you want to know?”

Ian just laughed.

“Um, okay…” Lip glanced back and forth between them. “Do we need to make sure the bat’s within arms’ reach? They gonna come ‘round here?”

“Nah.” Mickey put out his cigarette and flicked the butt in the trash. “Terry’s the only asshole to worry about, and he won’t be gettin’ out for a while.”

“Back in jail,” Ian announced, smile so wide it was practically splitting his fucking face.

“Great.” Lip nodded in that way that meant he wasn’t really sure what the fuck was going on.

Good. Not _everyone_ had to know their fucking business.

“Well, shitty powdered eggs and toast on the school’s dime for breakfast this morning. Guess I’ll uh, see ya down there.” Lip slid his eyes between Mickey and Ian one last time before he scooped up Liam and carried him away.

“Mhm!” Ian chirped and was on his brother’s heels in an instant. Mickey reached out a hand to try to stop him, but Ian was too fast.

He had _way_ too much fucking energy for someone with bruised ribs and several knocks to the head.

Reluctantly, Mickey followed, already aware that the amount of noise coming from downstairs meant there was a shit ton of people there. Not the way he liked to start a morning.

Especially not this morning. It was all supposed to be over, wasn’t it? He’d made the announcement. He’d taken the beat down. He’d proven himself to Ian.

So why did he feel like there were still so many hurdles left to cross?

Word would’ve gotten back to Mandy by now, but there was still what to do with Svetlana and the baby after all this. And how about Ian’s family? How would Ian expect him to act around them now—he’d wanted to be _open_ about their relationship, but what exactly did that mean?

Was Ian gonna want all that sappy shit, out in public? ‘Cause making out in a gay club was one thing…pulling down those walls in front of the rest of the Gallaghers…especially that asshole Lip…was an entirely different story.

A couch cushion sailed past Mickey’s face as he reached the kitchen. “Missed me, sucker!” a small blond child yelled, and a trail of scampering kids dashed back into the living room.

“Jesus,” Mickey muttered under his breath.

“So.” Ian grabbed some toast off Carl’s plate. He shoved it into his mouth and then spoke around it. “Who’re all these people?”

“Uh, Carl’s girlfriend’s family, I think. Who knows if any extra snuck in,” Lip answered, dishing up a plate of eggs.

“And her?” Ian pointed the remainder of his bread toward the stove, where yet another fucking new person stood, this time a preppy brunette with glasses.

“Amanda,” Lip replied with evasive eyes, and Mickey didn’t need to ask to know there was some kind of awkward undefined relationship going on there. Been there, done that.

Speaking of awkward, he sat stiffly at the table, a place he’d so recently felt more comfortable than in his own home. The dynamic was off now, though, and not just because there seemed to be like a hundred swarming kids making whirlwind rounds through the kitchen.

“Want some eggs?” Ian asked him, and before he could answer began serving a plate. That Amanda girl zeroed in on Ian with way too much excitement in her eyes.

“You’re Ian, right? It’s so great to meet you. I’m the one keeping your brother in line at school.”

“Uh, cool?” Ian smiled back, friendly enough, but still keeping his distance. Maybe he could smell the crazy, because Mickey sure as hell could.

Ian returned to the table with Mickey’s plate and set it down in front of him. Mickey snatched at a fork, grateful to now have something to do.

But his fork froze halfway to his mouth when Ian’s fingers casually brushed through his hair, down the back of his neck, and came to rest on his left shoulder.

Blood rushed to his head from a furious uptick in the pounding of his heart. And really, what the fuck? This was nothing. Nothing. A hand on his fucking shoulder.

A hand on his shoulder, rubbing soft circles. In front of Lip and that Amanda chick and Carl and the occasional blond rugrat.

 _Still, nothing,_ Mickey told himself again. No reason to start swallowing like he had a fucking frog stuck in his throat.

Slowly, he managed to bring the forkful of eggs up to his mouth, stick it in, and chew, every second weighted down by the hand on his shoulder. He scanned the room restlessly with eyes half-lowered and caught Lip’s tilted head and raised brows.

Damn. Of course this shit Ian was trying to pull couldn’t go down unnoticed.

“So, uh…” Lip joined them at the table as Carl ducked away with his girl. “You wanna tell me about that prize fight you guys had?”

Mickey tensed, and the fact that Ian responded by bearing down even harder on his shoulder like he was trying to give a fucking massage did nothing to help matters.

“Terry’s a fuckin’ asshole,” Ian announced, stealing another piece of toast, this time from Mickey’s plate. If Mickey hadn’t been so caught up in the whole being-touched-by-his-boyfriend-in-public thing he would’ve stabbed Ian with his fork—damn kid was constantly stealing food instead of getting his own.

_Boyfriend._

For the second time that morning, Mickey froze.

Sure, he’d heard the word thrown around before. He knew it was a label people would place. It went hand in hand with the whole _together_ and _of course we’re a couple_ thing. But it’d always been so foreign before, maybe because it was so fucking forbidden…he hadn’t even let it into his thoughts.

And now….now, there it was. There _he_ was, talking to Ian’s asshole brother at the kitchen table while his… _boyfriend_ …was practically trying to smother him with touchy-feely shit.

“Sure, sure.” Lip nodded. “You’ll get no fuckin’ argument from me there. So he just decided to wail on you guys for no reason? Or’d you pick a fight?”

That Amanda girl came over and wiggled her way onto half of Lip’s chair with a bowl of cereal. She spooned in a few mouthfuls as she leaned forward eagerly, like she was at the goddamn movies, waiting to be entertained.

“Picked a fight being born,” Mickey mumbled into his plate of eggs. Again, Ian responded with an extra-hard squeeze of his shoulder.

Come to think of it, it _was_ kind of comforting, actually. Something to ground him when the crap of the world tried to knock him off his feet.

Ian had always been his something-to-ground-him, but he’d only ever gotten to steal moments of that peace before, behind closed doors and in between a daily life of bullshit if he was lucky, and misery if he wasn’t.

Now, though…now he could have this _all_ the time. Even in public. Well, relatively safe public, at least. Maybe he could just fucking…relax, for once.

Ian must’ve felt the tension drain away from his stiff shoulders because he smiled down at him affectionately. “Yeah, we know the feeling. But at least you fuckin’ stood up to him. That was some amazing shit last night.”

Mickey looked up and grinned back, even managed to lean a little more into Ian’s touch. “Worth it.”

Lip raised a surprised eyebrow again, but this time, Mickey didn’t give a fuck.

One more hurdle crossed.


End file.
